Chapter Seventeen

November 26, 1811

Netherfield Park

Darcy

Darcy had only glimpsed Wickham briefly over the course of the evening; once upon his arrival, and once when he partnered with Miss Bingley for the third set. After that, he vanished. At the conclusion of the affair, Darcy learned that Wickham and a few other men had left the ball for other amusements, thanks to the information imparted by Mr. Denny.

Despite being unable to locate the blackguard, Darcy remained vigilant throughout the evening and made sure he danced with as many ladies as possible, just in case he was being watched. He kept his expression carefully neutral, even when he danced with his Elizabeth. He was tired of the secrecy and wanted the world to know that he loved this woman, and that he wanted her for his wife. Their private waltz after dinner had stoked the fire of his ardor and left him weak with longing. Despite continuing to mingle, thoughts of Elizabeth distracted him for the rest of the ball.

As he moved through the assembled guests, his thoughts kept returning to the moments they had shared. The feeling of her hand in his, the way her eyes had locked onto his, speaking volumes without a word. The closeness, the intimacy of the waltz, had been intoxicating. He could still feel the warmth of her body, the delicate pressure of her hand on his shoulder, and the way her breath had quickened, mirroring his own racing heart.

Every smile she bestowed upon another gentleman sparked a flicker of jealousy, though he concealed it well. The memory of her laughter, the subtle way she had pressed her slipper against his boot, sent shivers down his spine. He yearned to hold her again, to dance with her openly, and to declare his love without fear of reprisal or scandal.

Though he continued to mingle, making polite conversation and dancing as decorum demanded, Elizabeth wholly consumed his thoughts. Her image, her scent, her touch—all lingered with him, making it impossible to focus on anything else. The evening wore on, but his desire to be with her, to claim her as his own, only grew stronger. He knew that once he concluded the business with Wickham, he would not waste another moment. Elizabeth Bennet would be his, and he would ensure the world knew of his devotion.

At the end of the evening, in the wee hours of the morning after the last of the carriages had departed, he sat with Bingley in the library before the fire. The house was quiet, and Darcy found he was not ready for sleep.

"I shall ask her to marry me," Bingley declared, his feet propped on a footstool before the fire.

"Congratulations, my friend," Darcy answered, feeling a surge of happiness for Bingley.

"And you?" Bingley asked, turning to look at him. "When shall you make your offer?"

"When I can rest assured that she will not turn me away with a flea in my ear," Darcy jested, though a hint of seriousness lingered in his tone.

Bingley laughed. "Little chance of that, hmm?" he teased. "Perhaps a compromise?"

Darcy smiled, a warmth spreading through him at the thought of compromising Elizabeth with a kiss. No, when he made his offer, he was certain Elizabeth would have him. He need only wait until Wickham played his hand. Imagining Elizabeth accepting his proposal filled him with a sense of anticipation and joy. He pictured the moment he could finally declare his love openly, the moment she would become his forever.

~

Eavesdropping on Charles and Mr. Darcy's conversation, and receiving a shock, Caroline smothered a gasp with her hand. So, Darcy did intend to offer for her! And by the sound of it, her brother was more than willing to entertain his petition! She was no foolish child, willing to accept the first offer of matrimony she received with little thought of the consequences. Many ladies experienced acute misery in marriage, and she had no intention of becoming a victim to such a mean existence.

Allowing Mr. Wickham to court her in secret would give her a chance to see if she could be happy with him. His fortune was attractive, and if he was being honest about his connections, she would have the first circles, just as she wished. Given the presence of money, the peerage was willing to turn a blind eye to certain… unfortunate circumstances of birth. In their hypocrisy, they were more willing to welcome a wealthy, natural-born son of a gentleman than a well-dowered woman whose father was in trade. Such was the way of the ton .

But now, what was she to do? Darcy and Charles appeared intent on imposing their will on her. Caroline had never been one for following orders; as a child, she directed her brother and sister, and as a grown woman, she ordered her life. Her brother's unusual resolve was something she had never encountered before. Caroline felt frantic as she considered her position. Charles could not force her to marry, but he could make life uncomfortable if she refused to bend to his whims. She did not dare test him, uncertain of how he would respond to her overt refusal.

An idea crept into her mind. Unpredictable as her brother was, it seemed prudent to take matters into her own hands and elope with Mr. Wickham. Louisa would think her insane and Caroline had to admit she felt a little mad as she considered her plight. She would not accept the pariah; doing things her own way was the only solution.

Safely in her bed with her door locked, Caroline fretted. She spent a sleepless night dwelling on the possibilities, unable to settle her mind enough to rest. The worry that Mr. Darcy might come to her chambers while she slept fed her disquiet. At long last, she settled into a restless slumber, drifting off as the new day dawned.

Later that morning, she took a breakfast tray in her room, anticipating her rendezvous in the garden with Mr. Wickham. The festivities of the previous night meant that the other occupants of the house would not soon be out and about. She relished the privacy, grateful that Mr. Darcy had not compromised her as she rested.

After she breakfasted, she donned a heavy cloak over her pelisse, along with her bonnet, muff, and gloves. Wishing to go undetected, she made her way to the walled garden using the servant stairs, relieved when she encountered none of them. A blast of wind hit her face as she left the house, causing her to shiver. The air was frigid, much colder than she liked, but she ignored it.

Safely at her destination, she paced anxiously, her footsteps crunching on the gravel path. Though she knew she was early, her restlessness drove her from the house. Each passing moment felt interminable until, at last, Mr. Wickham arrived, approaching through the gate at the far side of the garden.

"Miss Bingley, you look positively frozen!" he said with concern, crossing the space between them and gripping her shoulders, earnestly searching her face "Are you well?" he asked seriously, his brows furrowing in a show of worry.

"Merely anxious and unsettled," she replied, her voice trembling. "I overheard my brother and Darcy speaking of… of marriage last night." She shuddered, and he gently grasped her elbow and led her to a bench where they each took a seat. His eyes never left her face.

"Marriage?" he asked, his voice tinged with panic. "What do you mean?" His sincere distress fed her vanity, making her feel a perverse sense of satisfaction at his reaction.

"My brother means to propose to Jane Bennet," she answered, wringing her hands. "I already knew that. But Charles asked Mr. Darcy when he intends to make me an offer. And Mr. Darcy said that he would when I would not send him away with a flea in his ear. Charles intimated I may never be ready and then mentioned the possibility of a compromise. Oh, I could not bear to be forced into such a union. I am certain I should die!" Her voice broke, and she covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. Wickham gaped at her.

She continued to sob dramatically. Her sorrow was not real and was deliberately designed to prick Mr. Wickham's heart so that he offered to run away with her. Though their acquaintance was brief, she believed he was an honorable man. Caroline was certain he would wish to do things the proper way, with a reading of the banns and the like. Unfortunately, she no longer had the luxury of waiting and hoped that her beauty and accomplishments would be enough to overcome his sense of propriety. He seemed drawn to her, as she was to him, and one could always come to know one's spouse after the marriage.

She felt smugly gratified when her ploy worked.

"Oh, my dear Caroline!" Mr. Wickham cried, pulling her into his arms. "It will not do. They cannot force you to marry such a monster. He will send you off to live alone in a cottage in some shire while he spends your fortune lavishly. No, no! You simply cannot!"

"I am at my brother's mercy until I come of age! What means of escape can I employ?" She whimpered and leaned into his embrace. She found glee in his hold; though she feigned much of her distress, his arms around her felt warm and comforting, and soothed some of her pique.

"Marry me," Mr. Wickham insisted, his voice urgent. "Come away with me tonight. You can claim exhaustion from the ball and retire early. I will hire a carriage, and we can be gone before midnight. The moon is still mostly full, so our way will be well lit."

Silently thrilled that her machinations had succeeded, Caroline laid her head on his shoulder. "Will we be able to outrun them?" she asked, performing an air of concern. "Gretna Green is so far away!"

His arms tightened around her, and he rubbed her back in soothing circles. "I shall pay to change horses," he assured her. "With a fast team, we will be well beyond their reach by tomorrow before anyone notices you are gone. Meet me here at nine o'clock. Can you escape the house without being seen?"

She pulled away just enough to look up into his face. "Yes, I think so," Caroline mused. "There is a stairway little used by anyone but the servants. I could sneak away after everyone is abed and remain undetected."

His arms fell away from her, and Caroline bemoaned the sudden loss. "You have yet to answer me, though," Mr. Wickham said, gently reaching up and caressing her cheek. "Marry me, my dear Miss Bingley?"

"I will," she said, smiling as she looked up into his handsome face. At least he will be pleasurable to look upon.

"I cannot say that I love you yet," Mr. Wickham said, leaning closer, "But I do believe loving you will not be difficult at all."

He kissed her then, and Caroline felt warm from head to toe. She leaned in instinctively, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulled away after several long moments, regret marring his handsome countenance. Caroline resisted the urge to pout.

"I must go, now," he said sorrowfully. "There are things that need to be prepared. I must also ask my colonel for immediate leave. I should hate to be court-martialed and hung, you know."

"Thank you, Mr. Wickham," Caroline said, reaching up and stroking his cheek. It was prickly, and she marveled at the feel on her fingertips.

"George," he corrected softly.

"George," she repeated. She impetuously kissed him again before whirling away. She would pack her valise with only the necessities. After tonight, she would be free of Mr. Darcy's unwanted attentions.

~

Wickham whistled a merry tune as he hurried back to Meryton. Oh, it had been far too easy! A few pretty words and a fake story, and the woman had fallen all over him. Now, he would get to play the gallant knight and rescue her from the evil Darcy dragon.

He requested leave from the colonel, telling him amidst tears that he had a letter from his mother. She was dying and wished to say goodbye to him. Forster granted him two weeks. Wickham wiped away his false tears and hurried to hire a carriage before he returned to his room to pack his things. Once inside, he locked the door behind him so no one could disturb him. There were two letters he must write before anything else could be done.

The first was to his benefactress. He sat at a small table, paper and ink before him, and quill in hand. He sucked on the tip of the feather, contemplating his words, before he dipped the nib into the inkwell and began writing.

Dear Madam,

The task that you have set before me shall soon be complete. I have persuaded the lady in question to distance herself from our mutual friend and soon he will face defeat once more.

I imagine this latest failure will break him entirely and ensure that his next decision takes him down the path that you have wished him to traverse for years.

I expect your aid in removing me from the militia in short order. I shall also expect to hear from you no later than two weeks from now, with the final payment and news that you have taken care of my commission. Should you fail to uphold your end of the bargain, I shall not hesitate to make the entire nature of our agreement known to Darcy. I imagine he will not look kindly on your interference in his life.

Thank you for your kind patronage these many years.

George Wickham

Wickham smirked as he sanded and sealed the letter, addressing it carefully and setting it aside. He pulled a new sheet toward him, fingering the thickness and imagining the nice, thick paper he could buy with his soon-to-be bride's dowry. With eight hundred pounds a year, he could have a house in town and never have to work again.

Dipping his quill into the pot again, he wrote.

Dear Darcy…

~

Caroline closed her chamber door as quietly as she could, wincing at the snick the latch made. She had donned her plainest muslin gown, covering it with her pelisse and cloak to fight the autumn chill. To avoid making any noise, she held her skirts so they would not rustle as she walked.

The door to the servant stairs creaked as she opened it, and Caroline froze, listening for any sound of approaching footsteps. When none came, she proceeded through the doorway and carefully closed the door behind her. She took the stairs slowly, cognizant of each squeak and creak. At the base of the stairs, she hugged the wall in the shadows. All was silent; presumably the staff had long since sought their beds.

At the end of the hallway, she turned the key in the heavy lock and winced again as the iron bolt scraped loudly against the frame. The door creaked loudly as she pushed it open, and she froze once more. Why did everything sound so loud when one was attempting to be silent? After listening intently and hearing nothing, she closed the door and hurried away from the house.

It was bitterly cold as Caroline crossed the yard toward the walled garden. She carried her valise with two dresses and her necessities in it. She secreted her leftover pin money—close to fifty pounds—in a small pocket hidden in the bag's lining. She would not typically have anything left by this time in the quarter but being away from London had curtailed her spending.

The moon glowed overhead, lighting her way enough that she did not stumble. The gate creaked as she pushed it inward, and she glanced behind her to see if anyone followed. Mr. Wickham— George —was waiting for her, and she quickened her pace to meet him.

He took her in his arms and kissed her cheek. After the quick embrace, he led her through the other gate toward a little lane that branched off the main avenue to the house. He helped her aboard a waiting carriage and called to the driver to hurry away as he followed. The door shut with a thud, and he settled himself on the bench opposite her.

"There are hot bricks there," he said, gesturing to the pile at their feet.

Caroline shivered dramatically. "Perhaps you ought to sit beside me," she said coyly. "I believe we would both be warmer." Her lips turned up in a practiced, alluring smile, and she patted the bench next to her.

His answering grin sent shivers of anticipation down her spine. "As my lady wishes," George said, moving immediately. He gathered a rug from the side of the bench and draped it over them. The effect was instant, and Caroline could feel herself warming.

"It is a long road," she said. "Shall we stop to rest at all?"

"We will only stop to change horses," he assured her. "By the time you are missed, we shall be too far away for your brother to interfere with our plans."

She sighed in contentment and snuggled closer to his side. He obliged her and wrapped his arm around her, drawing her close.

Caroline untied her bonnet and tossed it aside so that she could rest her head on his shoulder more comfortably. There was pressure on her hair, and she was certain that George had kissed her head. The sweetness of such a gesture made her giddy, and she turned her head to offer him her lips. He complied readily.

After some time spent kissing, Caroline yawned widely. She really was exhausted. All the fretting and planning had taken her strength from her. She closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

It was morning when she awakened. The carriage had stopped, and George was outside, directing the change of horses. She watched him as he ordered the men to their tasks. She had not noticed last night but he had exchanged his red coat for an attractive blue one. He is a handsome man , she thought smugly. Oh, yes, she would be very happy, indeed.

~

Wickham reveled in his genius. The horses that now pulled his hired carriage were Darcy's, and a finely matched set they were. With a few lies and ‘proof' of his identity as a Darcy by means of a forged letter, he convinced the stable master at the inn to eagerly hitch Darcy's horses to their carriage. He and his future wife were hurried on their way at no extra expense to him. Oh, his old friend would be furious when he discovered it, which made Wickham's deception all the sweeter.

It was nearing noon, and they had many miles yet to travel until the next stop. Darcy kept horses at every major inn from London to Derbyshire as befitted a gentleman of his wealth and status. Undeserving lout. Wickham relished the displeasure his little scheme would cause and did not regret his actions in the slightest.

After Derbyshire, the Darcy horses would run out, and they would be required to hire a new team for the remainder of the journey. Hopefully, they would make it to Gretna Green with no need to change them again. There would be no need to rest the driver. The man was being paid handsomely to take his passengers straight to Scotland, and he had arranged for another to travel along so that there was no need for extra stops. The coachman's son rode atop with him, and they were even now changing places.

A few coins in another innkeeper's hand provided them with a basket full of bread, cheese, and warm meat pies to eat in the carriage, and soon they were on their way again. They were still days away from their destination, but another twenty-four hours at this pace would ensure that any pursuers did not catch them. His future was soon to be secure.